by Sam Ferguson
Erik nodded. “I must go,” he said.
Braun looked past Erik and his shoulders slumped. “She is coming out to us,” he said.
Erik turned to see his mother, wearing a black dress and a dark veil, walking out to him.
“I see you have returned,” she said.
A lump formed in Erik’s throat and a gnawing pit opened in his stomach. He had nothing to say to her. He watched Braun step forward and begin to speak. Even the stoic warrior stumbled and stammered for words. Lady Lokton’s tears fell freely over her cheeks, glistening in the sunlight behind the veil of lace. Her head drooped forward and she threw her arms around Braun’s shoulders. Erik could not bear to watch as her shoulders convulsed up and down and she cried into Braun’s chest. Erik turned and walked toward the stable, away from the sound of her agony.
He walked into an empty stall and collapsed atop the pile of straw inside. He buried his face in his hands and slumped against the wooden stall. A wave of emotion crashed over him. His stomach lurched, and then he retched onto the floor. His gut burned and his throat choked as his body convulsed over and over, until finally he gasped for air and laid back into the straw. He clumsily wiped his mouth and looked up to the rafters.
From outside, he could still hear his mother sobbing, but the sound was growing distant. When he could no longer hear her, he clambered to his feet, reaching a hand to the stall walls to steady himself. As soon as he was standing he leaned on a nearby post and coughed, expelling the last bit of vomit from his throat and spitting it onto the floor.
“You look pale,” Braun said.
Erik looked up and saw the man coming toward him. “I…” was all Erik could say.
Braun held up a hand and shook his head. “No need to explain,” he said. “I do, however, need you to think back to the dragon and tell me what you can about him.”
Erik shrugged. “There is nothing to say. “All I could see was his head and neck. I can’t tell you how large he is, where he is, or anything.”
“Braun stopped and stroked his chin. “Was he alone?” he asked.
Erik shrugged again. “I could only see him, but I can’t say if that meant he was alone. Certainly I would imagine all he could see was me, yet you were just a few feet away from the pedestal in the room. He could have an army, and I wouldn’t know.”
Braun smiled. “Then let’s prepare for an army,” he said.
Erik looked up, confused. “How will we slay a dragon?”
Braun’s smile disappeared. “I will prepare the field for an army of men,” he said. “We will dig pits, set up pikes and traps, and then we can try to set up something for the dragon.”
“How long will that take?” Erik asked.
Braun shrugged. “We will dig trenches and pits around the manor’s stone wall. Logically the manor is our best defensible position. I can have Demetrius work on something that could fire at the dragon, perhaps a bow of some kind.”
“It would need to be a very large bow,” Erik said.
Braun nodded and held a finger to the air. “I once heard of something, in an old legend my mother read to me as a boy,” he said. “I think it was called a wind-lance.”
“A wind-lance,” Erik repeated.
Braun nodded. “I will go and speak with Demetrius. I don’t know if it is possible to make it, or how long it would take, but he would know. I can also assign some men to help him build catapults.”
“What should I do?” Erik asked.
“You should grab a shovel and help the others dig the trench,” Braun said.
“I have never done anything like that before,” he said.
“It’s alright,” Braun said. “Just make sure the trench mimics the stone wall and is half a man deep and four feet wide. I will have other men cut down the lumber to prepare the pikes. By the time you are done with that, I will be back and I can direct the men further.”
Erik nodded. “Alright. I’ll go get a shovel.”
CHAPTER SIX
Gilifan sat at the head of a long, rectangular mahogany table, lying back in a high-backed chair with his feet up on the table next to a plate that held the remnants of what used to be a trout. He swirled the red wine in his goblet lazily and drank the last mouthful of the liquid. He set the cup down and rubbed a hand over his weary eyes. Out of his peripheral, he caught sight of someone in the doorway. He turned to his right to see one of his soldiers standing there patiently.
“Come in,” Gilifan ordered. The soldier obeyed immediately, walking up to the side of the table and resting his forearm on the back of the chair to Gilifan’s right.
“We are ready,” the soldier said.
Gilifan nodded. “The men hold the king’s banner?” Gilifan asked.
The soldier nodded affirmatively. “We standby to march on Spiekery.”
“B’dargen,” Gilifan called out.
The resurrected mage stepped through the doorway. “Yes, master?”
“You will ride at the head of the troop. Make sure to announce yourself exactly as I told you.”
B’dargen bowed his head. “Of course,” he said.
“And be sure to let a few of the villagers escape,” Gilifan added. “It will not serve our purpose unless some live to tell of the attack.”
“I understand,” B’dargen replied.
Gilifan kicked his feet down to the floor and stood. “Well then, let’s be off.” He dismissed the others before him with a wave. He walked to the back of the room and opened a curio cabinet. He pulled out Lord Hischurn’s ring and turned it over in his hand. “Too bad you did not live to see this day, old friend,” he said as he put the ring back into the cabinet.
His ears twitched, picking up a noise from inside the room. It was like a scrape against the floor, but when he turned, there was nothing there. Gilifan lifted his brow and scanned the room more intently. The light from the chandelier above threw shadows behind the chairs and under the table, but there was still adequate light to see the entire area. He was alone. Not even a mouse would have gone unnoticed under his careful eye, and yet he could feel that he was being watched.
The thought came to him to cast a dispelling enchantment on the room to uncover his stalker. A slight sneer stretched his lips over his pointed chin. He need not uncover the intruder, not yet. What fun would it be to ruin the intrigue? Gilifan cleared his throat and exited the dining room. As he walked down the hall the hairs on the back of his neck prickled and began to stand. His intuition told him that his follower was close behind.
I do enjoy these shadow-games, he thought to himself.
He put the thought out of his mind and continued about his work. He exited the main keep to see a troop of fifty-five men on horseback assembled in the courtyard. B’dargen sat atop a chestnut colored horse, with another soldier next to him holding the king’s banner.
“How ironic that the flag of the dragon shall be the image the villagers will see before their doom,” Gilifan said to himself. “They will run from one made of cloth only to find a serpent of fire lying in wait.” He reached up with his left hand and jerked his chin to the right, cracking his neck. He took in a deep breath and rolled his head around before descending the stairs and saluting his men. “Go, and deliver the king’s justice,” Gilifan said tongue-in-cheek.
Gilifan’s smile faded against the men’s silence. None of the men laughed at his jest. The mindless servants never laughed. Gilifan waved them off dismissively. “Follow B’dargen’s commands until we meet again,” he instructed.
The silent group turned their steeds in unison and walked the horses out through the front gate, with B’dargen in the lead. Gilifan was not far behind the last rank. He jumped atop a paint horse and followed just fifty yards back. He had no interest in leading the fight, but he did have a duty to see that his plan was executed flawlessly.
The journey was not long. The island itself was only large enough for a couple of settlements. Spiekery was the largest of those, except for Hischurn’s keep. Hi
schurn himself, along with another of Gondok’hr’s order had been slain only a few weeks back by Lady Dimwater. A most unfortunate event in which Tu’luh lost one of his noble supporters. Had Gilifan been present that day, the sorceress would not have triumphed. The wizard gripped the reins tight at the thought of her. If only he had been warned of her meddling in time.
No matter now, he knew. Her interference in Spiekery actually provided him with a pretext to attack the village and enslave the people. In the end he would get what he wanted, an island from which to stage his assault and people willing to stand against the king.
After the space of two hours a fork in the road appeared. The army took the left path. It went north and around the rolling hills of the island, Gilifan knew. The wizard took the right road. It was narrow, and overgrown with weeds cluttered with leaves from the nearby trees. It led south by southeast, directly into the foothills. He guided his horse over the forgotten road for slightly longer than an hour before he crested the final hill leading into the valley where the others were waiting for him. A troop of twenty men on horseback waited under the yellow banners adorned with the face of the wolf, the banner of Lord Hischurn. Gilifan grinned and approached the group.
“Are we prepared?” Gilifan asked as he pulled his horse to a stop next to the lieutenant.
“Yes, sir, we are ready,” the lieutenant answered.
“Good,” Gilifan commented. “Follow me, and remember nobody moves in until I give the command.”
“As you wish,” the lieutenant said.
Gilifan kicked his horse into a run and the group sped off after him. The sound of hooves beating the ground was not unlike the march of drums of the armies of old. The clanking armor, and the grunting, snorting horses added their own beats to the cadence of death.
By the time they crossed the last of the rolling hills and bore down on Spiekery, the town was already under attack from the others. A tall barn just outside the town was ablaze, spewing thick, black smoke into the sky. The screams and shrieks of dying townsfolk hung in the air, ringing out over the land. Gilifan spied a group of corpses near the burning barn.
“Not much for fighting,” he commented to his lieutenant as he signaled for the group to halt. “I do them a favor by bringing them into our fold,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant agreed.
Gilifan looked to his mindless officer and snorted. “Not that you would disagree with me anyway,” he said. The officer remained silent and looked back to the fight. Gilifan sat atop his horse, patiently. He wanted to time his entrance at precisely the right moment. He listened to the screams for help and the pleas for mercy, and watched intently whenever a townsperson managed to escape the battle. He would watch, gauging whether the person would make it to the nearby forest on the eastern side of the town. He was not surprised when they were cut down by one of his other riders, however. He had given specific instructions. In the first few minutes of battle, B’dargen was to allow a few to escape, but after that all were to be culled.
On the other hand, neither B’dargen nor the other riders knew of Gilifan’s second group. That way, the ruse would be intact. Gilifan raised his hand and turned back to the men behind him. “Ride now. Charge hard and fast, leave no enemy alive and spare every townsman you can.”
Instantly the riders obeyed. Their horses tore off, briefly enveloping Gilifan as the riders galloped around him toward the town. Their war cries drowned out the suffering screams momentarily, only to be replaced by the sound of steel ringing against steel and the agonizing cry of warriors meeting their death. Gilifan moved his hands quickly, calling down enchantments for the group he chose to be victorious. Their blows were stronger, quicker, and more accurate. At the same time, he cursed the group under the king’s banner. Some he made slow, others he struck blind, and some he simply willed to die. B’dargen was among those from whom he took the breath of life. As Gilifan had been the source of his resurrection, it was a simple matter to reverse the spell and drop the lifeless corpse back on the ground.
Within a matter of minutes, Gilifan could hear the cheers and shouts of victory. The deed was done. He urged his horse forward and pranced nobly through the carnage. He feigned disgust and turned his nose as he passed by a pair of women who had been run through with a single lance. He stopped near a broken fence, where a group of survivors had gathered inside the protective perimeter of the men riding under Lord Hischurn’s banner.
“I am Gilifan,” the wizard declared. “I am the new lord at Hischurn keep.”
A couple of people in the group stole glances at each other, but no one spoke. The shock and terror was plainly written across their pale faces and their wide eyes locked upon him, waiting for him to announce his intentions.
“You have been betrayed,” he continued. He pointed to a slain soldier at his feet. “This man fights under the king’s banner, but what have you done to stir the king’s wrath?”
He waited silently for a moment, but no one dared to speak.
Gilifan descended from his horse and walked to B’dargen’s body. The man’s eyes were still open, frozen from the moment his soul was ripped from him. The wizard nudged him with a foot. “This man was from Kuldiga Academy,” he said. “He was sent to kill all of you.”
“Why would the king want us dead?” a middle-aged woman cried out. “We have done nothing to anybody!”
Gilifan raised an accusing finger. “But, didn’t you harbor the shadowfiend, Be’alt the Black?” he asked. “That is why the king has sent these men against you.”
“But we didn’t know,” another shouted. “He had us all bewitched!”
Gilifan nodded. “I believe you,” he reassured the man as he patted the air with his hands. “Trust me, I know you didn’t intend for the demon to walk among you. However, the king is unforgiving. After he sent the sorceress to slay the demon, he had her murder Lord Hischurn. As if that was not enough, he vowed to wipe this island clean of life.”
Gilifan walked back to his horse and jumped up. “I say we cannot allow ourselves to live in fear of a tyrant who is impotent to control his own kingdom without waging war upon our women and children.”
“What should we do?” someone shouted from the back of the group.
Gilifan made a point of looking at the dead soldiers with the king’s banner. “We declare ourselves independent,” he said after a long pause. “Join with me. I will not levy any taxes beyond what Lord Hischurn has already laid upon you. I will rebuild your town, and I will protect you from future attacks.”
“How can you protect us against the king?” the first woman shouted.
“The king is old,” Gilifan said. “His kingdom is fracturing. Have any of you heard about the senate?” He paused. No one answered him. “The senate has been destroyed.”
Gasps rippled through the group.
“The Keeper of Secrets himself murdered several senators and laid waste to the senate chamber.”
Again people gasped and murmured amongst themselves.
Gilifan whistled above the din to get their attention. “I say again, we cannot live under the threat of a tyrant. The king would wipe our island off the map for no other reason than to show he is in control. You are naught but pawns to him. I will protect you.”
A young man stepped forward. “But you have only seventeen men, how can you offer us protection from the whole of the king’s army?”
Gilifan nodded and looked directly at the young man. “I came with twenty today and we defeated more than twice our number and only lost three,” he countered. “Besides this, I have a much larger army at Hischurn Keep. We are simply one of the patrols that roam the island to keep invaders and petty, manipulative nobles off the island.” He sat back in his saddle and turned to address the whole crowd. “I would be honored to have those of you who are able-bodied join my men. Together we can keep this island free.”
“And what if we don’t want to join?” someone shouted from the back.
Gilifan
looked into the crowd, searching for the one who asked the question. People stepped out of his gaze until at last he saw a man, roughly in his mid-thirties standing with a large warhammer in hand. Gilifan kept his face neutral, showing no emotion. “If you will not pledge to join in protecting the island, then you are free to leave.” He then shrugged and addressed everyone with a great outstretching of his arms. “Only those who are willing to labor with us, for the common good, should stay on the island. However, I bear no ill will toward those who would prefer to pursue their interests elsewhere.”
“You are saying that unless I join your army, I can’t stay in my home?” the man retorted. “Sounds like we are trading one tyrant for another.”
“You are bold, I will give you that,” Gilifan said. “But you are foolish and blind. I am not evicting you from your home. The king’s men have already done that. They laid waste to your people and burned your buildings. I am offering to rebuild it, but I cannot have detractors in our midst. Why should I offer my protection to you, and allow you a place at our table if you are not willing to work for it? So my offer is either stay and be one of us, or leave and do as you please. The choice is yours.”
“My ma and pa raised me here, and their blood waters the ground this day. I will not be run out by you or anyone else,” the man replied.
Gilifan smiled. “What is your name?”
“I am Malek, son of Dorin.”
“Malek, son of Dorin, I would not dream of running you off your homeland,” Gilifan said confidently. “But I would be honored if you would accept a position as captain of the garrison that I assign to this town. I would send ten men that you may order and command as you see fit. Why not help me protect the home you obviously love so dearly?”
“I am not bought with honors,” Malek shouted back.
“I do not esteem your character so little,” Gilifan replied. “What say you? It is obvious the townsfolk look up to you. They would also trust you with the command of the garrison. Any men from this town who wish to join could also become a member of your garrison. It will be a force of your own. You will be watched over by your own people. This way you need not wonder whether I will turn on you like the rabid king. My men can help yours train, and then you may lead them all.”